AZT – Pine and mud of death in the Mazatzal desert

Day 8 – 36 miles +4760

I had stuffed one of my shoes in the door to let in fresh air and set up my spot in the far corner of the bathroom. Private tactics. The rain had first started as soft drums before turning into pounding sounds. Puddles formed outside, I’m glad I chose to seek refuge in the toilet. As disgusting as it may seem.

I turn on the stove at the door to drink coffee and wait for the rain to stop. 6am? Or 7?

In the end, the drip-drip-drip seems to come only from the pine trees, not from the sky. It’s time to pack your bags.

But my luck runs out quickly and it rains again. The trail has turned into a stream. At first I still try to rock hop, but soon I give up and walk through ankle-deep water. The rain runs down my neck and I wonder if my raincoat is no longer waterproof. Well, it’s too late for that worry anyway.

A few hours later, the rain stops and for the first time the landscape changes. The trail winds along a stream, crosses it, over it, and crosses it again. Oh, is this almost funny?

After the general springs cabin, the azt follows a dirt road and then the landscape changes even more. There is a thick green forest north of the Washington trailhead and after the azt it joins the High Line trail: red rocks, juniper trees, cacti. Orange and rock walls appear to my left and right. Desert!

«Do you know there’s a lot of rain coming?»

I ran into Recon, a former AZT nobo hiker, just after the Washington trailhead. I look up to the sky. Ominous dark clouds are brewing, a strong wind whips our heads.

«Yeah»

“Are you going to Webber TH tonight?” says Recon. Seat.

«You should try to get to Pine. Is it like another 20 miles?»

I look at my watch, I’m already 18.

“We have a cabin a kilometer from here, if you want to stay,” he offers. “My wife is there now,” he adds after seeing my hesitation and realizing I might feel uncomfortable following a stranger into a cabin. I’m tempted. I can’t afford lodging in Pine anyway. But his kindness makes me feel shy and I shake my head. «Thank you. I should go.»

“Stay dry!” he adds.

I can’t afford lodging in Pine, but according to FarOut, the trailhead has covered picnic tables. That’s better than nothing and tomorrow I’ll have more time in the city since I won’t hit zero. I look at my watch, if I get to Webber TH before 5pm, I’ll walk the remaining 9 miles to Pine tonight.

A sudden surge of energy catapults me down the trail, at 4:45 p.m. I pass the trailhead. After the rain, Webber Creek is thigh-deep. My shoes are soaked but I’m burning, I don’t care. Quick, quick, quick. Before the rain comes.

Shortly after 8 pm, I arrive at the empty parking lot. By the light of my flashlight, I inspect the picnic tables; They are not much use when it rains. But it’s better than nothing, better than sleeping in a puddle on the floor.

Day 9 – 10 miles +1818

Another morning accompanied by the soundtrack of heavy rain. The store and laundromat open at 7, but it’s a 20-minute walk and in this rain, no one will stop to pick up a soaked hitchhiker. Finally, the growl in my stomach convinces me to go out into the rain.

“Good time for hiking, huh,” a man comments as he passes me at the Pine supermarket. It’s obvious that I’m a hiker. I chuckle, “wonderful.”

Although I can’t shower anywhere in the small town, I feel a little better after washing clothes and putting on clean clothes. Accommodation in Pine is expensive and what would you gain? It will rain tomorrow and the day after. There is no escape.

However, the pine is lovely, the little shops along the main street, the wooden porches and the beer halls with sunny terraces if it’s really sunny. It’s your typical small American town where the world still seems to be in order. A city of trails that captivates with its authentic and slightly kitsch. It reminds me of Wrightwood and my heart clenches into a painful knot for a moment.

Day 10 – 23 miles +4524

I grab my water bottle, brush my shoulder against the canvas, and ZAP! My soaked tarp collapses on me and, much worse, on my sleeping bag.

The rain has turned the ground into a mud bath and my tent stakes are slipping in the brown goo. Everything is covered in mud: my hands, my legs, my tarp, my stakes, my backpack. Luckily, the rain has stopped, but as soon as I start walking, a new problem arises: the thick mud sticks to my shoes. It’s like wearing ankle weights. Each step requires extra energy.

I’m so focused on sliding without falling that I didn’t see the mountain lion until it jumped off the path and ran into the juniper trees. Mesmerized by the beautiful creature, I watch as the cat stops, turns around, and stares at me for a while. We both evaluate each other. I had never seen a cougar before. But despite the warnings, I always wanted to do it.

After the encounter with the cat, the azt descends into what appears to be a very green and lush valley, but after a few kilometers, the trail descends again. This time towards the current valley, where the azt crosses the East Verde River. According to reviews, under normal circumstances it reaches up to the knees. But how deep is it after all this rain?

I quickly realize that the water level is much higher than usual, the river banks are flooded and it is moving fast where the trail crosses. To do? Downstream, the water cascades over rocks and appears to get narrower, but upstream the river is wider and slower. Let’s try.

After stuffing my fanny pack into my backpack, I undo the hip and chest strap. If you fall into the water, you should try to get rid of your backpack as soon as possible. Since it can get stuck in hidden branches and also weigh you down.

The water is brown and cloudy. With my trekking poles, I feel the ground and try to measure the depth. The water reaches my shins and knees; As it rises above my knees, I slow down. Take a deep breath. “The worst thing you can do now is panic,” I remind myself and move forward slowly. The current isn’t strong, but if it reached my hip, I’d probably go back and look for a different spot. But the water is no deeper than my knees and with a sigh of relief, I reach the other side.

I chronically never check my next day’s elevation. I’ll have to upload it anyway, what changes when I know?

Therefore, I didn’t know the long, long uphill road that awaited me after crossing the Verde River. And the worst part was that AZT didn’t seem to be heading in any plausible direction. For miles I was climbing, only to lose elevation and then climb again. To my relief, the weather finally seems to be improving. The air was humid but hot.

I soon realized that I would not finish the planned 45 kilometers in daylight. In the north of Azt, you basically never have to worry about finding a place to camp. There’s always a flat spot between some pine trees, but down here in the rocky desert, the search for camping tips in the FarOut comments had begun once again.

I scroll through the beta as I continue to crawl uphill. I could stop after 23 miles. Of course, that would mean I’d have to walk more tomorrow, but at least today I could hang my things to dry for about an hour before crawling under my damp tarp into my damp sleeping bag. Why didn’t I take the time to dry it in the sun today? Who knows?

23 miles is a “short” day for me on the azt, however I felt tired and exhausted when I finally set up camp next to a stream that usually doesn’t exist during sobo season. But now water flows everywhere. I guess it will be an advantage for a few more days, shorter water transports.

For dinner, I boil a small pot of pasta and add some tuna, which is still left over from the previous restock because I usually always put off eating it until I really have to. But to my surprise, the fish paste tastes pretty good and maybe I wasn’t in a bad mood, I was just hungry.

There were no footprints in the mud, neither yesterday nor today. According to Farout, the closest person could be two days ahead of me. Three days if I continue playing in the mud instead of doing my mileage. I didn’t expect the azt to be so empty and frankly I realize that until now I’ve always had the option of walking alone. But now I don’t. For the first time in years I feel a little alone.

Day 11 – 31 miles +5807

I wake up and my quilt is unusually wet. Wet yes, but why does it drip? I look for my headlamp in the dark (the second time, previously the tarp had fallen down again because my stake didn’t stay in the mud) and try to find out what happened. In the dim red light I see that a puddle had formed to my left and I had lain in it while I slept. Wow. I thought I had already figured out the canvas, but now I’m not sure anymore. In my tent with the bathtub floor, it didn’t matter what the water was doing on the floor. I sigh, slide over to the other side in a half-hearted attempt to fix the problem, or actually avoid it, and go back to sleep.

Like every day, the rain stops shortly before 6 in the morning. Well, at least I can go out. The trail continues through the same maze of desert bushes as yesterday. It feels like I’ve been here for days, everything looks the same. Climbing but never reaching a high point, without notable views. Two signal bars should be enough to check the weather: rain from 8:00 a.m. for the rest of the day, thunderstorms from 2:00 p.m. I look at my watch, 07:20. This forecast had better be wrong.

The forecast was wrong and the rain never came, except for a brief drizzle here and there. However, dark clouds loomed over me like a constant threat. In the second half of the day, the azt grew unusually strong and became weak. Sometimes I have to check on my phone that I’m still on the trail and haven’t accidentally wandered onto an animal trail. He had almost missed the huge brown spider that crossed the path at that moment. There are a lot of tarantulas in the azt, but this one was huge and looked mean.

But Spider-Man’s girlfriend wasn’t the only exciting thing about the afternoon: suddenly there are VIEWS! Orange cliffs and cascading water over rocks, mountains and a lake in the distance. All that sweat was finally being rewarded.

Arriving at camp after dark, I set up my wet tent, hoping it would dry out a bit before the routine nighttime rain began, but to no avail: it poured with rain. Everything was flooded. White lightning illuminated the trees above me. Tomorrow, tomorrow the bad weather is supposed to end.